Prince's Son of Scandal(30)

The mention of living alone sent a tumble of unvoiced fears through her head. Intruders. Kidnappers. A million bad, horrible, terrifying things.

“Bella,” he said gently. “I want to talk to you about that. Come on. Come out of here.”

“No.” She slapped at his reaching hands and said very clearly, “There is no way. None. Just—go look after Tyrol. Please? I can’t look after him when I’m like this. If you want to help me, go do that. Please?”

He stared at her, jaw clenched. “I’ll bring him to you. Will that help?”

“I can’t use him as a crutch. It would turn into me using him all the rest of my life. I won’t put that on him. But I’ll feel better if I know you’re looking after him. Please?” She clutched his wrist. “Will you do that for me?”

“Trella—”

“I’m begging you, Xavier. Please.”

* * *

He left her in the closet like a child hiding from monsters, hating himself for abandoning her, but she’d knocked the wind out of him. Blind shock held him in stasis for long minutes outside her door.

She thought her attack made her unfit to be his wife?

This was his fault. Not just her breakdown, but her belief that she had to be perfect to be his queen. She was already perfect in the way of fierce storms and jagged mountains and a flower blooming on a broken stem. Her perfection was in her resilience. That’s what was needed in his partner. He loved her for her strength and her ferocious capacity to love and her ability to move forward despite how many times she’d been knocked down.

With her emotional bravery top of mind, he strode to the nursery where Tyrol had just woken.

“I was about to bring him down for a feed—”

“Warm a bottle. I’ll take him.” He carried his son through the palace, pushing into his grandmother’s parlor where she was meeting with Mario.

“Out,” he said to Mario, and gave the door a light kick behind the man.

“Your meeting?” his grandmother prompted.

“My wife was indisposed. Someone upset her. I had to care for our son.”

“We pay staff to care for him.”

“He shouldn’t need his parents because you and I didn’t? We’ll never know, will we?” He set Tyrol in her arms.

“What—”

“Hold him. Feed him.”

“What do you think you’re proving?” She lifted her brows and calmly silenced the boy with the nipple.

“What are you trying to prove? Look at your great-grandson. Can you honestly say you feel nothing toward him? Because that’s certainly how you act.”

She looked at the boy. His hand found her thumb and gripped it. A dribble of milk leaked from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were focused on her.

A flinch of anguish crossed her expression before her mouth softened in tenderness. “He looks like your father. Let’s hope he doesn’t have his temperament. Your father wasn’t cut out for the crown. I let him go because I had to, Xavier.” Her head came up, blue eyes clouded with sorrow and a pleading for forgiveness. “He wasn’t his brother. He wasn’t you. He was never going to survive the demands. I let him go and yes, you suffered, but I had already lost both my sons. I couldn’t let you go, too.”

It was the most sentimental thing he’d ever heard her say. Shaken, he lowered to sit across from her. “I’m a parent now. I do understand,” he said at length. “I can’t stomach the idea of his being across the city three and a half days a week, let alone not in my life at all.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed to share him.”

“I intend to renege.”

Her head came up, surprise in her lined face.

“They’re both staying with me. I’m not asking you. I’m telling. If that means you stay on the throne the rest of your natural life, so be it.”

“So she’s won you over.” She sniffed her disdain.

“No, it’s up to me to win her.”

Her gaze came up again.

“If I can’t give the woman I love what she needs, how the hell can I give our country what it needs? She makes me whole. Stronger. I want to be a better man for her. That can only make me a better leader. A better king.”

Tyrol finished his bottle. She set it aside and brought him to her shoulder to rub his back, exactly as if she’d been mothering infants all these years.

“After the risks she took bringing him into this world, how can you not want to know her? If you knew the things she’s been through...” It was killing him, what she was enduring right now, but she seemed to need to prove something to herself and he had to give her that. “She’s stronger and more determined than either of us can conceive.”

“Her reputation, Xavier. Patrizia is such a good fit.”

“I don’t love Patrizia. I love Trella.” It was conviction. Will. Fate. But he couldn’t help pointing out, “So does everyone else, judging by the online polls. She’s the more popular choice by a long shot.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” she said crossly. “What about another baby?”

“We’ll find a way. I am going to find a way to make it work. I have to. I can’t live without her.”

She let out a sigh of defeat. “Some monarchs would rather die than watch the next generation struggle to master the art of ruling. I’ve always thought I could give up the throne to you quite confidently. You rarely make mistakes. I will trust your judgment holds true in this instance.”

He didn’t need her approval, but he was glad to have it. Now he only had to convince Trella to stay.

* * *

Trella woke to bright light beyond the cracks in her blinds. She squinted gritty eyes at her clock. It was late morning. She had pumped milk a few hours ago when her swollen breasts had woken her, so she wasn’t too uncomfortable, but she missed Tyrol enough that her chest hurt just thinking about him. She texted the nursery, then glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, cringing.

She had done it. She splashed her face, brushed her teeth, then texted her sister.

It’s over. I’m okay.

She earned a heart emoji in response.

The residual depression of an attack hovered like a cloud, though, along with profound loss as she accepted she and Xavier would never be. It had been a serious trip to hell and back, but she was back. That was something, she reassured herself. She had proved to herself she could not only grit her way through an episode, but that it wouldn’t actually kill her.

Where was Tyrol? She checked her phone and saw Gerta had replied.

The Prince is with the Prince.

Xavier had had more meetings today. Was Tyrol sick?

She tugged a robe over her nightgown and yanked open her door—to find Xavier slouched in an armchair, clothes rumpled, eyelids heavy. Tyrol was fast asleep on his shoulder. It was such a tender scene, it pushed tears into the backs of her eyes.

“Is he okay?” She gently gathered the sleeping baby into her arms.

“Missing you, but otherwise fine. He just ate. That’s purely for show,” he added as Tyrol began to stir and fuss at the sound of her voice.

She sat to feed him, but Xavier was right. Tyrol nodded off before he’d taken more than a few gulps and she cuddled him instead. Oh, he smelled good and his skin was so soft. His hair was fine against her lips and his grip on her finger, endearing.

I’ll always come back to you, my sweet, sweet boy. She had thought about him a lot last night. She had thought about Xavier and how delusional she had been, ever thinking she could be his queen when she had this awful shortcoming.

Fresh agony washed over her.

When she couldn’t avoid it any longer, she looked at where Xavier hadn’t moved.

“Was it a rough night?” she asked.

“For him? Not particularly. For me? Yes.”

With a lurch in her heart, she noticed the glass on the table beside him. “Are you hungover?”

“No. I poured it, then thought I’d prefer to be sober if you decided you needed me.”

“Were you worried? I’m sorry.”

He snorted and reached for the glass. “Now, she’s sorry.” He made a face at his first sip and clunked the glass back onto the table. “Mostly water now. How was your night?”

“Awful.”

He nodded in grim agreement.

“Why are you angry? Xavier—”

“I’m not angry.” He shot to his feet, though, and paced a few steps only to turn back abruptly. “I am angry. I respected your wishes because fine, I accept that you had to feel you could get through an attack alone. But I have issues, too. Because of you. You ignored my texts for months before you admitted you were pregnant. Then you locked me out of a delivery room while you flatlined. We’ve been apart more than we’ve been together. You damned well need to stay accessible to me. I need to know you’re alive, even if you’re not at your best.”

That was the problem. Sometimes she was at her absolute worst.

And she really wasn’t up for a scolding over it. Or facing how she was supposed to be accessible from across the city. Much as she had given his grandmother a show of bravado, that’s all it had been. She couldn’t be his wife. She knew that now and it hurt so badly; she had to escape to hide how anguished she was.

“I want to shower. Can you take him and order breakfast?”